Hello November.

The start of November signals the beginning of cosy evenings in, stodgy comfort food and the opportunity to wrap up warm in fur and ridiculously oversized cardigans. Well, that's what it means for me anyway. Not only that, but I love Bonfire Night and Christmas so much that I instantly turn into a six year old again who runs around shops squealing at everything glittery. The tackier it is, the more excited I am. I have been witnessed publicly dancing to a musical Christmas tie in the middle of a supermarket. Not my proudest moment.

I think I've always loved this time of year purely because of the atmosphere and the excuse to be that little bit more lethargic and relaxed about everything. I remember being so scared of fireworks when I was little that I used to cry every time one of them made a noise. The ones that screech as they go up into the sky and then spread out into a big plume as they explode were a nightmare for me. I have strong memories of sitting on my Dad's shoulders and screaming my little heart out until I was pacified with some kind of toffee apple or sausage sandwich. Perhaps a sausage sandwich isn't traditional Bonfire Night fare, but I loved it. I can even remember holding the tin foil inbetween my gloves and feeling comforted by the heat coming from it. Wearing gloves whilst writing my name with a sparkler was also one of my favourite activities. Strange how you remember these things.

Fireworks don't traumatise me anymore (alright, maybe I jump a little) but they have always had my full attention one way or another. The colour against the dark sky and the shimmer as they fall back down is just mesmerising. Hopefully I can go and see a big display this year and attempt to recreate some kind of tin foil sandwich situation.